


Crime and Punishment

by Panic_CelestialInk



Category: My story-fandom
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Male-Female Friendship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 18:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14086713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panic_CelestialInk/pseuds/Panic_CelestialInk
Summary: Kate has always looked out for her best friend, Greg. But, even she couldn't have imagined what trouble he'd gotten himself into when she received this late night call . . .





	Crime and Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so here's another piece of my original writing. It was a piece I submitted for assessment in my creative writing course a few years ago. I was quite proud of it, but I never considered uploading it. However, with encouragement from my Mom and a good friend, I finally have the courage to do so.

Her cell phone rang. Kate snapped open her eyes and blinked in the darkness, before fumbling to reach it. She glanced at the caller ID, groaned, and pressed the “answer” button.

 

“What the hell do you want?”

 

 

“What? No ‘Hello, Greg, how are you?’ No ‘Hi, Greg, It’s nice to hear from you?’ ”

 

“Greg. It’s half past one in the morning. What do you want?”

 

“I need your help.”

 

“Why are you yelling, Greg? Are you drunk-dialling me again?” She rubbed her eyes, as she tried to focus on the conversation.

 

“Not this time.  I’m as sober as a monk . . . well, not _completely_ sober, but . . .”

 

“Greg . . .”

 

“Do I sound like I’m slurring?”

 

“No, you sound like you’re yelling.”

 

 “Kitty, I really need your help.”

 

“Nope. Sorry. Call back in the morning.”

 

“Kitty, I’m desperate!”

 

“Don’t call me that. We’re not in high school anymore.”

 

“So, should I salute and call you “General Armstrong,” then?”

 

“Just ‘Kate’ will do. Besides, I’m not a General yet, a police officer.

 

“You will be with the way you’re climbing the ranks.”

 

“Greg, if you just called to flatter me, I swear I’m hanging up.”

 

“Okay, Kitty-Cat, will you please come to my apartment and help me?”

 

 “I’m hanging up now, Greg.”

 

He groaned. “Come on, Kitty. Be a sport. Anyway, how long has it been since a guy has called you up in the middle of the night and said he’s desperate for you? About five years?”

 

“Three, actually,” she snapped.

 

“Still, three years is a _long_ time. “

 

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re just going to keep calling me until I come and help you, aren’t you?”

 

“Or until I run out of airtime. Whichever comes first.”

 

“Fine. I’ll be there just now. Why do I always have to save your ass?”

 

“It’s tradition. Why change it now? Oh, and you’ll have to let yourself in with the spare keys I gave you—I won’t be able to open for you. And if you would please bring that beautiful set of master keys you have from work, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

 

“Greg, what have you done now?”

 

“Nothing bad, I swear.” She easily recognised the fake innocence in his voice.

 

“Greg . . .”

 

“It’s kind of hard to explain, okay? You’ll see when you get here.”

 

“This isn’t something illegal, is it? You’re not going to ask me to hide a dead body, or something?”

 

He snorted. “Of course not.  Besides, if I was going to hide a dead body, do you really think I’d be stupid enough to call a cop to help me?”

 

_Yes, because I’m the only one on this planet who cares enough about your sorry ass to help you,_ she thought.

 

“Hello? You still there, or have you been abducted by ninjas?”

 

“I’m here. Don’t worry, I’ll be there soon.”

 

“Thanks again.”

 

She hung up, and groaned into the pillow. She fumbled about in the dark for her clothes, and other things she needed, before she remembered the lights. She clicked them on, and the plain room was suddenly filled with the orange glow of cheap bulbs. She paused, half-way through getting dressed.  She traced the outline of the Yin-Yang tattoo on her right forearm.  She and Greg had made a pact when they first entered varsity that they’d get tattoos once they both graduated. The only reason she’d agreed is because she didn’t think Greg would ever graduate—not that he wasn’t smart, just that he was more focused on enjoying life than _actually_ doing any real work. He had been the one to suggest her Yin-Yang sign. He said that she worked too hard and needed more balance in her life.

She sighed again and yanked on her hoodie. She then picked up her set of master keys, her cell phone and her wallet, and stuffed them into her handbag. She briefly considered taking the handguns that she kept stored under the pyjamas in her cupboard. Most people thought she was paranoid—the crime rate in Edenvale wasn’t _that_ high, after all. But, she reasoned that she’d rather have her guns available should there be an incident, rather than need them, and not be able to get them.

 

_Don’t be stupid. You’re going to Greg’s house, not on a sting operation._

 

“He’d better be grateful for this,” she muttered to herself as she snatched up her car keys and left the room.

 

 

 

She stuffed the spare key into the lock and twisted. The door unlocked, but she had to ram it with her shoulder before it came unstuck. As usual, she couldn’t help admiring the décor. Her own apartment was filled with second-hand furniture that friends and family had given her, or that she’d found in the numerous antique stores—and all the purchases had been at bargain prices as well. None of the furniture matched, and all of the pieces bore the traces of having been previously loved. It irritated Greg to no end. More than once he’d offered to take her furniture shopping. At some of the most expensive stores, no less. Each time, she’d turned him down, stating that—unlike him—she had a budget to keep to. He would then offer to pay for the furniture, and the conversation would disintegrate into a pointless argument.

 

Greg’s apartment was the polar opposite of hers—which wasn’t surprising since he lived in the swankiest apartment complex in their area. She’d once asked him—since he could obviously afford it—why he didn’t move to the upper class area of town? He’d winked at her and said that if he did, he wouldn’t get to see her as much. She smiled as she locked the door behind her and looked around. Though Greg had a ridiculous taste in clothing—who wears  a fur-lined bomber jacket and sunglasses no matter what the weather is?—he had impeccable taste in everything else. He had a black leather lounge suite, a mahogany coffee table and prints of famous paintings on the walls. The one hanging directly opposite wasn’t a painting per say. It was an engraving done by the artist Pieter van der Heyden. She remembered when she had gone with Greg and his long-term girlfriend, Anna, to choose something to decorate Greg’s wall. Anna had hated it, claiming that it was disgusting to portray one of the Cardinal sins. Greg had bought it immediately, saying that Avarice was his favourite sin. He confided in Kate later that he really only bought the painting to piss Anna off, which made Kate chuckle. One good thing about Greg was that he could always make her laugh. 

 

On the coffee table were two crystal wineglasses, and an open box of [_Ferrero Rocher_](https://www.google.co.za/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=2&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwjZ5tH6oLTMAhVSET4KHaH3AAkQFggoMAE&url=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FFerrero_Rocher&usg=AFQjCNGEisXe4BgH8MfFCOWnR7jyQRh4Fw&bvm=bv.120853415,d.d24). She smirked and helped herself to one of the chocolates.

 

“Hey? Is someone there? Kitty, is that you?”

 

Kate swallowed. “Yeah, it’s me. Where are you?”

 

“In the bedroom.”

 

“I’m coming.”

 

She went and dumped her things on the table. Besides her handbag and keys, she also had what she had dubbed the “Protect-Greg-From-His-Own-Idiocy” kit. She’d started lugging it around after the incident in high school when Greg managed to slice open his finger playing shot put, and needed stitches. Over the years, the contents of the kit had expanded beyond mere medical supplies and now included: a copy of both his ID and driver’s licence, a flashlight, a small screwdriver, scissors, a can of instant coffee and a Swiss army knife. When Greg had found out about the kit—to her eternal embarrassment—he’d laughed and contributed some spare clothes and a substantial amount of emergency money. When she’d drily asked how he was sure she wouldn’t steal the money, he’d just grinned at her and said he trusted her.

 

She picked up his wallet and checked inside.

 

“Well, all your cards are here, so it can’t be a money problem,” she said to herself.

 

“Kitty-Cat! You still there?”

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Have some patience.”

 

She walked out of the lounge and down the corridor to his bedroom. She shoved open the door, yelped, and clamped her hands over her eyes.

 

“Greg, _what the fuck_? You could have warned me!”

 

“Hi Kitty.”

 

“Don’t ‘Hi, Kitty’ me! Where the fuck are your clothes?”

 

“On the floor.”

 

“What are they doing there?! Put your fucking pants on!”

 

“I can’t . . . unless you want to give me a hand with that?” his suggestive tone made her scowl.

 

“You pervert. Put them on yourself!”

 

“I _can’t_.”

 

“Why not?!”

 

“If you would open your eyes, you would see why.”

 

“No way. Not a chance. The last thing I need to see is your naked ass.”

 

“Afraid you might like what you see?”

 

“Goodnight, Greg.” She turned to go.

 

“Wait, Kate, please wait. I really do need your help.”

 

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You have five seconds to explain, or I’m leaving.”

 

“I invited Anna over for a nice romantic dinner . . . mushroom risotto, which I cooked myself, by the way, wine, romantic music— the whole shebang.”

 

Kate nodded. It sounded like the type of thing Anna would like. Greg had met Anna at one of the clubs he owned. She was blonde, with long, long legs and boobs that doubled as floatation devices. When Greg had first introduced them, Anna had taken the opportunity, when Greg had gone to fetch them a drink, to tell Kate to fuck off and get away from Greg because he was Anna’s boyfriend. Kate had told her flatly that she and Greg were just friends. Then, Greg had ruined everything by turning up and kissing Kate on the cheek as he gave her the cocktail. Since then, the relationship between the two women was characterised by a mutual dislike.

 

“Sounds romantic.”

 

“I’m glad _someone_ appreciates my efforts.”

 

“You poor thing.”

 

“You could at least pretend to be sympathetic.”

 

“It’s quarter to two in the morning. My supply of sympathy is low. So, what happened after the dinner?”

 

“Well, then Anna and I decided to have some fun, so she handcuffed me to the headboard, and just as she started kissing my—”

 

“Greg!”

 

“Right, just as things were getting _really interesting_ , I said something, and she got really mad, and left . . . and took the keys with her.”

 

“You’re lucky she didn’t take your wallet or something,” Kate snapped.

 

“Fuck! I didn’t think of that!”

 

“Relax, your motorbike is still parked in your bay, and your wallet is where you usually leave it. And all your cards are in there, too.”

 

“Thank the Pope!”

 

“I don’t think he had anything to do with it,” she said drily. Then, she frowned. “If you’re handcuffed to the headboard, how the hell did you manage to call me?”

 

“My cell’s on the side table. If I reach with my foot, I can hit my speed dial.”

 

“You have me on speed dial?”

 

“Yep. Ever since the Coffee House Incident.”

 

Her lips twitched. “I still can’t believe you got beaten up by a housewife.”

 

“A _scary_ housewife. Anyway, that’s why it’s one of my rules not to fight girls. I’m not that kinda guy.”

 

“You need to make new rules.”

 

“Why?”

 

“So you don’t get into these situations.” She sighed, and started walking away.

 

“Oi! Where are you going?”

 

“To the bathroom,” she called over her shoulder as she pushed open the bathroom door.

 

She made her way past the chrome-and-glass shower and bathtub—which doubled as a Jacuzzi—to the cupboard.

 

 “Why?!”

 

“To get a bloody towel.”

 

“Why?”

 

“To cover you up,” she snapped and grabbed one of his fluffy white towels.

 

As she turned to go, she caught sight of her dishevelled reflection in the mirror. She’d looked much better the last time she’d glanced in Greg’s mirror. Then again, she had been going with Greg to her cousin’s wedding. She hadn’t meant to take Greg as her partner, but, after listening to her moan about how all her relatives would pester her with questions about why she wasn’t married, or why she didn’t have a boyfriend or if she was a lesbian, Greg had offered to come as her date.  She’d reluctantly agreed, and—after several arguments where she had insisted that he _couldn’t_ wear black leather to the wedding—they’d ended up having a good time.

 

Granted, in the space of one evening, Greg did manage to piss off the bride, get into a fist fight with the best man, hi-jack the D.J booth, spike the punch, and get the numbers of most of the bridesmaids. Her parents still said that it was the best wedding they’d ever been to and pestered her to invite Greg to the family braai on Sundays. Likewise, Greg kept asking her when her next family function was so he could once again go as her date.

 

“Hey, did you change your mind about the towel? You know I don’t mind if you take a peek.”

 

“Why am I still friends with you?”

 

“Because, you have good taste?”

 

“Greg, one of these days . . .”

 

“It’s a compliment, relax. Anyway, I’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about down there, Kitty-Cat.”

 

“Yeah, but I don’t need that mental image scarring me for life.”

 

He muttered something, as she marched back into the room. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the grey walls, and made her careful way over to the bed, skirting the leather pants and bomber jacket that were strewn across the floor. The room wasn’t very well lit, but she was taking no chances. She tossed the towel over his waist, and finally looked at him. His long hair was tousled, and sure enough, he was handcuffed to the wrought iron headboard. His purple duvet was tangled around his feet. She suddenly started laughing.

 

“What’s so funny?” he demanded.

 

She laughed harder. After a moment, he started laughing too. Once they’d both recovered, she wiped her tears away, and he cleared his throat.

 

“A little help, Kitty Cat?”

 

“Greg, how do you get yourself into these situations?”

 

“Luck?”

 

She snorted. “More likely your habit of flirting with anything in a skirt.”

 

“Possibly.”

 

That was one of the most frustrating things about Greg. He was blessed with that indefinable _something_ that magazines blandly dubbed “sex appeal“. As if those words could describe the irresistible tidal pull that came with Greg’s flirting. He could make the most _lewd_ suggestions to any women, and they’d come panting after him. She was just glad that he had never seriously flirted with her—she wasn’t sure how she would react to that.

 

“I like sex. I like women. I like sex _with_ women. Though, there was that one time I got really drunk in Mykonos and ended up—”

 

“Please, don’t. I remember you telling me that story the first time, and I still can’t get the images out my brain.”

 

She sighed, and folded her arms. He cleared his throat.

 

“Well,” he prompted. “Aren’t you going to unlock me?”

 

“How? I don’t have the key.”

 

“Actually . . . you do.”

 

“What? You mean . . . _are those my handcuffs?!_ ”

 

“Well . . . yeah. The only ones they had at the shop were fluffy and pink, and there was no way I was using those. I have a reputation to maintain, after all.”

 

“What am I going to do with you?” she said, shaking her head.

 

“Unlock the handcuffs?”

 

“I don’t know.” She smirked at him. “I’m tempted to leave you here.”

 

“ _What?”_

 

“It’s only fitting. Crime and Punishment, you know?”

 

“You’re joking, right?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Come on, Kitty.”

 

“It serves you right, you little thief!”

 

“Fine. I’m very, very sorry for stealing your handcuffs. Now, will you please unlock them?”

 

“Sure. But I’m taking them with me.”

 

_And washing them with Dettol._

 

“Fair enough.”

 

“Hang on a second.”

 

She went back to the lounge, muttering under her breath about idiots who couldn’t take care of themselves and grabbed her set of master keys. She returned to the bedroom, went over to his left side and examined the handcuffs.

 

“Do you remember what the key looked like?”

 

“It was made out of metal.”

 

“Thanks, that’s really helpful. . . I’ll have to try all the keys.”

 

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

As she tried the keys, she said. “You know, I don’t know how you like this kind of stuff.”

 

“What’s not to like about a powerful, gorgeous woman taking what she wants and bringing you to heel?” He eyed her speculatively. “You should try it sometime. It can be quite a confidence booster.”

 

An image of shoving Greg against the headboard and straddling him flashed across her mind.

 

She swallowed hard and tried to focus on the handcuffs. “T-Thanks, but no thanks. And stop with the flattery.”

 

“You know I don’t flatter. It’s one of my rules: Never lie.”

 

“You and your rules.”

 

“ . . . You could even try now.”

 

“ _What?!”_   

 

He rattled the handcuffs. “Come on, Kitty. I am literally at your mercy right now. You could do _anything_ you wanted. You can’t tell me that doesn’t make you a little curious?”

 

Her face heated.  “No! Would you just shut up for five minutes?”

 

“When do I ever shut up?”

 

The handcuff suddenly snapped open. Greg shook his hand. “That’s much better. So . . . do you want to undo the other one, or do you want to take me up on my offer?”

 

His eyes sparked with mischief as he held out his hand, grinning all the while. The dragon tattoo on his hand seemed to grin at her as well. He’d chosen the tattoo because he said dragons were mighty, powerful and brought good luck and fortune. It had succeeded in the fortune part. Greg had put his Business degree to good use, and ended up being the owner of some of the most expensive clubs in the city.  But as to the good luck . . .

 

“You know you want to, Kitty-Cat” his voice was deep, and rough like a cat’s tongue.

 

The blood rushed to her face, and her stomach clenched. Then, she noticed them. Three red semi-circles on his neck, each one surrounded by blue-black bruising. The heat in her body changed. She grabbed his wrist, and jerked his arm back. The handcuff shut around his wrist with a _snap!_ His eyes widened, and he gave her a grin. She moved away from him, feeling his gaze on her. She tugged off the hoodie, and let it fall to the floor. The next to go were her tracksuit pants, and Greg let out an appreciative whistle at her black lingerie. She smirked at him, and climbed onto the bed. She hadn’t even touched him, and already his arousal was saluting her from beneath the towel.

 

She laughed, and ran her fingers through his hair. It was as thick and satin-like as she’d always hoped. She gave an experimental tug, and Greg made a sound half-way between pleasure and pain. He closed his eyes, as she traced a finger along his clavicle. He never saw her draw back her fist. She landed a right cross directly on his jaw. His head cracked against the headboard and blood spurted from his lip.

 

“For fuck’s sake, Greg! You asshole! Do you really think I’d screw you after you just had sex with your girlfriend?!” She swung herself off the bed.

 

“Kitty—”

 

“No! Don’t “Kitty” me. I’ve had it, Greg!  How many times do I have to save your ass? How many more times are we going to do this? It’s always the same shit. Well, this is it. I’m done.”

 

“Wait, Kate, please—”

 

She slammed the door behind her as she stormed out the room. She could still hear him calling out her name. She ignored him. She grabbed her keys, and was about to leave, when her traitor feet took her to the kitchen. Her hands were shaking. A part of her wanted to go back, let him out—and then use the handcuffs to choke him to death.

 

She let her eyes travel around the kitchen. There was a black marble counter running right around the room, with wood-and-glass cabinets.  The stove, fridge and other appliances were state of the art, and gleamed like they’d been freshly polished—unlike the ones at her apartment, which were rusting and yellowed with age.  Her eyes landed on one of the cabinets. Moving mechanically, she reached into the cabinet and took out a bottle of wine. It was Angel’s Tears-- one of the brands that Greg usually reserved for dates, or other special occasions. She felt a petty satisfaction as she popped open the bottle, and then poured it into one of Greg’s crystal glasses. She sipped the wine. It was a sweet wine, and besides the usual burn of alcohol, there was a tang of fruitiness to it. Another example of Greg’s good taste.

 

It took two full glasses before her hands stopped trembling. As she looked at her hands, she noticed that she’d split her knuckles. Probably on Greg’s teeth. She shrugged it off. She’d had worse injuries in the course of her job. Most of her family didn’t understand why she had given up her candidate attorney ship to pursue a career as a police officer. She’d gotten tired of explaining that people in city needed police officers more than they needed lawyers, and that she felt like she was doing something worthwhile as a police officer. And if that feeling came with a few split knuckles, or stab wounds, well . . . it was a price she’d gladly pay.

 

She set down the glass, and went to the “Protect-Greg-From-His-Own-Idiocy” kit. She tugged out his shirt, and put it on. It was a little big, but it would do. She then filled up another glass and sauntered back to the bedroom. Greg had stopped shouting. She lightly pushed open the door, and stared at him for a moment. His hair fell over his face, blood dribbled from his split lip, and he was staring at the floor.

 

_He looks . . . defeated?_ Pity stirred within her, and she scowled, but she couldn’t tell whether she was angry at him or herself.

 

She knocked lightly on the doorframe. His head snapped up. Greg stared at her, jaw open.

 

“I-I thought you left . . .”

 

“I considered it.” She walked across the room, and sat at the foot of the bed.

 

She turned to face him, and leant back against the footboard. She swirled the wine in her glass as she looked at him. His usual cocky grin was gone, and there was a serious look in his eyes.

 

There was a long silence, as she tried to work out what to say.

 

“Greg, I’m tired of this shit. Every time, it’s the same damn thing. You get in trouble, and I bail you out.”

 

“Not always.”

 

“Come on,  I’ve helped you out when you’ve been drunk, sick with pneumonia, had food poisoning, with your damn sprained ankle . . . I can’t do this anymore. What, am I going to still be saving your sorry ass when you’re ninety? You need to look after yourself.”

 

“Why’d you stay?”

 

“What?”

 

“If you’re so fed up, why didn’t you leave? I would’ve.”

 

“Would you? If I asked you for help, would you have turned away?”

 

His mouth worked, and he gave a wry smile. “No . . . I guess not. Kate, look, I know you put up with a lot of shit from me . . . but . . . you’re the first person I think of when I’m in trouble. Hell, you’re the only person I can turn to when I’m in trouble.”

 

“What about Anna?”

 

“I don’t think Anna and I are together anymore.”

 

“Oh, really? What was your first clue?”

 

“The fact that she left me buck naked and handcuffed to my own bed.”

 

Kate snorted. “Well, I’m sure you deserved it!”

 

“Thanks!”

 

“What? You told me that you said something to her and she got upset. What did you say?”

 

Greg tensed. “Nothing.”

 

“Come on. I won’t laugh. You can tell me.”

 

“I said, drop it!” he snarled.

 

“Okay. Okay. I was just asking.”

 

She sighed and took another sip of her wine.

 

“Kate, I didn’t realise—”

 

“That I’d be angry about you flirting with me after having _sex with your girlfriend_?”

 

He winced. “Yeah. I crossed a line there. I’m sorry, Kate. I really am.”

 

“I know . . . so where does that leave us?”

 

“I’m not sure. It’s your call.”

 

She studied his face, reading the anxiety in it . . . and something else. Eventually, she sighed, and ran her fingers through her hair.

 

“Sixteen years of friendship is a long time to just toss aside, and, believe it or not, I would actually miss your stupid smirk.” She sipped her wine again. “But Greg, I can’t keep on saving your ass. Do I look like bloody Superman?”

 

“More like Wonder Woman. Though you have a punch like bloody Superman.”

 

“It’s part of my job. Did you think I bat my eyes at criminals to catch them?”

 

“You do have nice eyes . . .”

 

“I’m serious, Greg.”

 

“I know . . . sorry.” He let out a long sigh. “Fuck, I’m no good at this emotional crap. . . . And you’re right . . . I didn’t think. Kate, the last thing I wanted is to make you feel like some kind of unpaid nursemaid. Would you . . . would you give me a chance to make it up to you? I promise I’ll try harder.”

 

“Greg, things won’t change. You’re just so  . . . impulsive? Reckless? Fuck, there aren’t words for what you are. It’s like you were born without a self-preservation instinct.”

 

He glared at her. “Give me some credit, Kate. When have I ever broken a promise to you? You know that it’s one of my rules: never make a promise you can’t keep.”

 

She fell silent as she thought. He was telling the truth. Over the years, whenever he’d said the words to her “I promise . . .” he always pulled through. The time he’d promised to pay for the traffic fines she got rushing him to the hospital. The time he’d promised to treat her to a three day spa trip for her birthday. The time she’d called him up in the middle of the night, in tears because she’d uncovered the mangled bodies of three babies during a police raid, and he’d promised to come over. Not only had he come over, but he’d stayed with her for a week, until she felt better. It had resulted in him breaking up with his girlfriend (not Anna, the one before her, Clarissa, a perky brunette that seemed eternally high on caffeine).

 

“This isn’t a promise to take me to see the new _Avengers_ movie, you know?”

 

“I know.” He gave a small smile. “But I like a challenge. And to put it bluntly, I’d be lost without you, Kate, so if I need to be a bit more careful . . .”

 

“Thanks, Greg.”

 

She drained her glass. The wine left a warm glow in the pit of her stomach.

 

“Now, can I beg one last favour, from you, Kitty-Cat?”

 

“What?”

 

“Can you, please, unlock these handcuffs?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? I hope everyone enjoyed this! I had a blast writing it. :D


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